


damned spot

by amuk



Series: PH-Fanfest [3]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Macbeth kept washing her hands to no avail. His own stains won’t leave either. --Elliot</p>
            </blockquote>





	damned spot

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Prompt 11—The Cellar
> 
> Character/Pairing: Elliot, mentions of Leo, Vincent, and Gil

There is blood on his hands, dark and sticky and he can’t wash it off. Lady Macbeth, he remembers reading, kept washing her hands.  _Out damned spot, out_ .

 

Nothing could get rid of the damned spot.

 

His own hands fare no better, the death on them a dark stain. How many did he kill? His brothers, for certain. His sister—and oh, she had looked him that last time, with love, with fear, with hope.

 

Vanessa, for all her faults, she didn’t deserve to go that way.

 

(His brothers—he should have arrested them, should have them punished, but never killed, never.)

 

His family is dead, all of them and by his own hands. And others, how many others has he killed? Indirectly, though the use of the orphanage, through the use of these children.

 

Though the deaths of these children.

 

Leo’s asking him to stay, but how can he? Elliot’s killed more than enough of his brothers and sisters.

 

He’s still killing them as he speaks, his chain still in them all.

 

Oz will never forgive him for this. Leo will never either.

 

He can’t forgive himself either. He can’ live like this, with this guilt as his shackle. No, he can’t just forget and pretend this never happened.

 

His father be damned.

 

“I’m sorry, Leo,” he manages. Gil isn’t here, just Vincent, and he wishes the reverse is the case. He never got to apologize to the older man, to his brother.

 

(And he remembers, so clear now, Gil tutoring. Gil teaching him how to fight with a sword and shoot with a gun and Vincent sitting nearby, always ready to one up Elliot. They’d ruffle his hair after, laugh as he trips over his too big sword and too big boots.

 

“You’ll get it soon,” Gil promises, always so proud of him and Vincent. No matter how badly Elliot did, no matter how much Vincent beat him, that pride is constant. “It takes some practice.”

 

“For _some_ people,” Vincent adds, dragging it out. Competitive to the end. As though Elliot couldn’t see how much he craved Gil’s attention. “ _Some_ people can do it better.”

 

“I’ll show you _some_ people,” Elliot retorts, getting up off the ground.

 

He remembers it all so easily and of course it’s only now, at the end.)

 

Lady Macbeth killed herself, he remembers. Tossing herself off some tower, maybe. Her damn spot wouldn’t go away.

 

And neither will his.

 

“I reject you,” he declares, he shouts. It’s all he can do when he looks under the bed, in the closet, and finds out the monster inside is himself.

 

“I reject you.”

 

And maybe this is enough to wash that spot off, to remove the stain.

 

(And he sees Leo’s tears, sees Vincent’s expression, and thinks nothing can ever wash away that stain.)


End file.
